


Between the Wars

by Alleig



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Hatching, Interval, Multi, Weyrlings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:52:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alleig/pseuds/Alleig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new Interval approaches and N'ru, now Weyrleader of Fort Weyr, must guide his dragons and their riders as they begin to adapt to a new way of life. As ructions begin to appear between the Weyr and the Hold following a troublesome Hatching, N'ru begins to seek out new allies. Meanwhile, a new weyrling struggles to come to terms with his new status. <br/>(This story shares DNA with another story of the same title, which was begun some years ago on FanFiction.net, but was abandoned due to lack of time and due to the story's structure struggling to gain traction. Here's for attempt number 2!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Urfrid felt ashamed of himself. There really was no objective reason why a girl shouldn’t stand for a green egg. Fort Weyr was known for encouraging gender matching in its hatchings and it also had the lowest instances in all the Weyrs of dragon and rider mortalities and as good a record of any of them for protection of the lands beholden to them. In a turn’s time, maybe two, even those weak arguments put about by the other Weyrs wouldn’t bear much weight, not once a dragon’s rider’s usefulness or availability in a Fall was no longer a matter of concern. The Pass was almost over.

His resentment of the thirty female candidates at this Hatching was entirely selfish. Greens preferred girls, when given the opportunity to Impress them, and this clutch of Riseth’s was estimated to contain at least twenty greens, possibly more. There were only thirty-two eggs in total, one of them a queen. The girls had no less potential than any of the boys with them on the sands and there were more boys than girls standing there today anyway. The girls stood to clean up on Impressions.

Urfrid had good reason to be ashamed. His Aunt Rhye was a green rider at Igen Weyr, originally of Fort Weyr and she had pointed out on many occasions the fact that women had few enough opportunities in life without the Weyrs stacking the deck against them. Urfrid knew this, knew that he was already at an advantage in life by dint of his sex regardless of what happened here today on the Hatching Ground, that he had a place in the Harper Hall if he was unsuccessful. Many of the girls would not have such opportunities. They were needed as mothers, yes, but…

He looked ahead along the tunnel toward the Hatching Ground, past the eggs, at the stands. His mother was there, along with his father and his brother, Joffic. His mother, Jamrid, was a talented singer and musician but had become pregnant with Joffic, before she could take the opportunity to take up an apprenticeship at the Harper Hall herself. His father, Ufrir, was a kind but unremarkable journeyman Smith. He had progressed where his mother had not because he was not required to feed his children night and day. By the time she might have considered taking up her apprenticeship again, she was already pregnant again. The Harper Hall was tolerant above all the other Halls, but that did not extend to letting a woman suckle her children during classes and rehearsals.

Urfrid sighed. Who could not be selfish when the opportunity to Impress a dragon presented itself? He was lucky enough to be there at all, he knew. He had the envy and resentment of his brother, who had been certain he would take the search riders’ attention when they had come to Fort Hold. Joffic had been fostered to a small hold for a year to learn about herding and he fancied himself a whisperer of beasts. A far more useful kind of person, he was prone to suggesting, vociferously, than the esoteric twiddlings of his younger brother, who had both his mother’s encouragement and that of the Master Harper in the Hold.

Urfrid looked down at his sandals. He had been mortified when the dragon had literally pushed Joffic aside to get to him. He had been more embarrassed still when Joffic had actually tried to argue with the dragon’s rider, to insist that because the green had touched him that he must clearly have potential. But that embarrassment had been nothing compared to the constant sniping he had endured ever since that Search. Subtlety was not normally a trait Urfrid would have associated with Joffic but he had cause to wonder if perhaps there might be a future for him yet in the Harper Hall. Joffic had found he could turn just about anything into a jibe or an insult. The way his younger brother choked on a too-hot tuber could be turned into a joke about whether it was even possible for a dragon to ride a Fall solo if his rider couldn’t stand the heat. For a month now, everything from the way Urfrid laced his jerkin to the way he exclaimed at a stubbed toe had been fair game as far as Joffic was concerned. Their father had taken Urfrid aside, tried to explain to his youngest son that Joffic was simply working through his disappointment and that it would pass, one way or another. They were both to be apprenticed in the Autumn anyway. Urfrid had nodded, quietly crushed by his father’s tacit espousal of Joffic’s view that Urfrid was probably not dragonrider material.

Then there was his mother. She had been so proud of his acceptance into the Harper Hall…

He shut his eyes, wishing it was an effective way to silence the maelstrom in his head. What dragon would be impressed by this mind?

The stern voice of the weyrling master M’hew was far more effectual. ‘Candidates! This way please.’

A numbing feeling shot briefly through Urfrid’s body and his knees threatened to buckle. He kept them locked, but as the column of candidates filed into the Hatching Ground, two by two, he couldn’t keep them from buckling.

The acoustics of the tunnel had muted the sound of the dragon humming outside. It was almost deafening. Several candidates put their hands over their ears and Urfrid could not help wondering if this might count against them. He resisted the urge to do the same.

The candidates fanned out to take up positions that were now familiar and comfortable to them. Over the last sevenday they had had daily visits to the Hatching Ground to become accustomed to the eggs. They had all picked out positions that they thought gave them the best chance. The girls tended towards the queen egg but it was unnecessary. M’hew had told them that queen would find her rider wherever she stood in the grounds, citing examples of little gold dragons bellowing for their chosen rider all the way up the stands. Not just queens, but other colours too. There was no real advantage to being next to an egg when it cracked. It didn’t stop candidates adopting strategies such as trying to find positions that were equidistant from as many eggs as possible, or favouring, as the girls did, a particular egg.

Urfrid himself actually put himself near the queen egg. Fewer boys tended to focus on the eggs in its vicinity and there were five that were rarely investigated by more than ten boys in any visit to the Hatching Ground. These eggs were smaller than many of the others, probably likely to contain smaller colours of blue or green and the boys’ general preferences were for the larger colours that could expect to lead or second a wing. No green rider ever would, their dragons lacking both the stamina to last out a fall and the temperament to lead. Blue riders might aspire to second but it was rare. He smiled again, ruefully thinking of his aunt. Even in the Weyrs, he thought, women had barriers that just weren’t surmountable by strength of will alone.

One of the eggs near him was rocking, thread-like fissures spreading out from a point near its base. Urfrid doubted that it would hatch first, though. It likely contained a green. Bronzes usually hatched first. _I can be patient,_ he told himself. No one else was even looking at that one. He had caressed its shell every day for the last seven. It _had_ to count for something. If there were no one else on the ground except him and that egg, surely he would be acceptable.

He gritted his teeth as the humming threatened to burst his eardrums with its intensity. Bidding his hands to stay at his sides, his fingers mutinously curled tight to splint his body against the sound. It had to be soon.

The sudden silence made most of the candidates wobble on their feet. In spite of himself, Urfrid tried to see which egg had signalled the end to the dragons’ chorus. He couldn’t, for the eggs were too large to see over, but Riseth gave everyone the cue. Though she wouldn’t leave her golden egg’s side, her neck swung toward an egg on the far side of the Ground that was wobbling frantically. Riseth made a strange sound, almost a hoot and, as if responding to his dam’s summons, the egg split along a near perfect vertical axis and spilled out its inhabitant into the world, tail first. As hoped for and almost expected, the dragonet was, indeed, a bronze.

The urge to head toward it was almost magnetic to Urfrid. He almost went to move toward it and then checked himself. Several other candidates were shifting their feet in the same way, some of them actually leaving their favourite spots to try their luck with this hatchling. Urfrid had not had the benefit of his brother’s fostering on a farm, but he knew a herd mentality when he saw one. He kept his feet together and instructed them to put down roots. There was no point in moving. If that dragon, if any dragon wanted him, they would find him.

There was no applause, no calling of a name. The bronze was taking his time, brushing aside candidates roughly, ignoring some altogether, disregarding others after more careful consideration, moving between the eggs. Urfrid began to extend his hope a little. It might just be his day.

Three more eggs split suddenly, revealing their occupants as two browns and a green. The green emerged right near Urfrid and he forgot all about the little bronze. This grassy beauty could easily be his and he wouldn’t care.

She was far more discerning, however. Without a second’s hesitation she arrowed toward a girl hovering on the raised dais of sand containing the queen egg. If not for her dam’s protective presence nearby, her path might well have taken right over or through the golden shell to get to her chosen rider, who stood on the other side. Her rider didn’t even give the queen egg a rueful glance, although she respectfully withdrew from the egg and made her Impression in her own space. The green’s was the first name to be announced.

‘Her name is Chalith!’

A cheer broke out from the crowd in the stands and that seemed to act as a cue for every other unhatched dragon to catch up. Eggs began to crack in every direction. And every person except Urfrid seemed to be Impressing.

_‘Segeth!’_

_‘Rith!’_

_‘Tarth!’_

Had Urfrid not been desperately suppressing the urge to run in every direction, he might have noted the irony of so many contradictory assurances from newly Impressed candidates that their wet and wobble-legged dragonet was the most perfect creature who had ever been born. But Urfrid had lost his capacity for sarcasm. He had noticed how few girls were left on the Ground. He thought he had even seen one girl leading a brown dragonet out. It wasn’t fair.

The circle around the queen egg had not altered much save for that first girl and one other, who had Impressed a dark skinned green large enough to be a blue. The queen egg was starting to draw attention as the other colours had thinned out and it appeared that every bronze that was going to hatch had done so. Urfrid didn’t see who had Impressed the first one and he didn’t even care. The remaining eggs looked likely to be green and they had more than enough choice among whomever didn’t Impress the gold. He began to feel foolish for having stood his ground.

His better judgement told him to keep focused on the eggs but he couldn’t help it. Looking up, he saw Joffic in the stands and Urfrid knew for absolute certain that he wore a triumphant smirk. His face was not legible from such a distance but why else would he be looking so directly at him when all other faces were now angled towards the biggest and supposedly best of the eggs.

It _wasn’t_ fair. Why should the most powerful egg in the Weyr be reserved only for girls? He didn’t even give a thought to his aunt now, nor his mother. He gave no outward sign of it, but inside his heart raged in misogyny and agony at his brother’s triumph.

Behind him, he heard the queen egg crack. He heard a collective gasp as the queen presumably emerged. Then silence. Then a name announced.

‘Her name is Quenth!’

Urfrid sighed. There had never been anything in it for him and he felt childish for having even abated the breath that he had drawn. It was obvious why queens only Impressed girls. For the same reason bronzes impressed only boys and the other colours were less choosy. It was just the way of things.

Then, in the stands, a surge of activity and a mass sound of concern went up in accompaniment. In spite of himself, Urfrid turned around.

The little gold was locked in a physical struggle one of the girls. Urfrid could do nothing but stare in bafflement. Had she just got in the queen’s way? He thought he recognised her and then guessed that probably hadn’t been it at all. It was Zandra, an egotistical and entitled brat whom he had not only learned to avoid over the last sevenday, but who had a reputation that he had known of even in Fort Weyr. She was the eldest daughter of the Lord Holder, Rome and had been unashamed in establishing her superior status among the candidates, even though holder or crafthall status had no place in the candidates’ quarters.

This didn’t seem to be the view of her father. In the stands, Urfrid could see him rise up and cling to the ledge in front of him. Presumably at his command, two attendants of his vaulted down onto the Ground itself to intervene. They had their knives drawn.

_That_ was not lost on Riseth. Flaring her wings in the same way a feline puffed out its coat in aggression, she slithered down to bar their way, roaring in righteous maternal fury. Rome’s guards drew up short, looking confused as to the sudden peril they found themselves in, perhaps suddenly aware of their own impotence and their lack of forethought in this instance.

Urfrid thought that even a babe in swaddling cloths could have told them that entering the Hatching Ground with brandished steel was tantamount to desecration, which would be settled by a test of nerve that only a dragon could win. Larinth, the bronze father, had dropped to the ground as well and was hissing at the guards, driving them back. One of them had a dark patch in the fork of his trousers and another waddled in a way that suggested an even worse accident had befallen the seat of his. Still, no one was helping Zandra, not even the girls who had formed a circle with her and were in probably the best position to do anything.

On instinct, Urfrid began to take a step toward them. If they wouldn’t do something, he had to. It was only right. Then he stopped. He could see that they were neither ungallant nor unfeeling. The little queen was irate and furious and no less formidable an adversary than her mother in that state. She was hissing and her eyes were bright red, bearing not a pixel of blue or green. He could see why. The queen was not mauling the girl at all; Zandra actually had her arms wrapped around the golden neck and seemed either unwilling or incapable of letting go. She was screaming over and over the dragon name she had pronounced but it seemed clear to everyone that this moniker did not apply to the queen. Urfrid stared in disbelief. Did she think if she held on long enough and repeated the name a sufficient number of times, that might secure an Impression?

Urfrid could sympathise with the desperation, if not the motivation. Still, he could also see that if the silly girl didn’t let go soon that dragon would stop hesitating to do her human assailant harm and would just end it the only way she felt she could. Urfrid made his decision.

_‘Aruwynth!’_

Zandra did not let go but the dragonet stopped struggling. She lifted her head and looked directly at Urfrid.

Urfrid blinked and froze in mid-motion, one step taken toward the struggling queen. Had he said her name out loud? Had he…?

A motion behind him shattered his moment of delusion. A girl, one whom he recognised from the last sevenday, whose name he could not recall, had stepped alongside him.

A quiet drifted over the Ground. The situation was tense. The young gold had a forepaw in a dangerous position on Zandra’s upper chest, capable of fatally injuring the girl through a crushing force or a pierced artery.

The girls around her had melted away. Even the last six eggs seemed to have suspended their rocking in deference to the unspoken conversation transpiring between the dragon and the girl who had apparently uttered her true name. Urfrid couldn’t help but look furtively from dragon to girl. His motive was selfish, again. Some thirty candidates remained for those remaining eggs. He wanted to move now, to be among them, but neither his desperation nor his selfishness extended to prompting the accidental slaughter of a girl, however obnoxious, by startling either the dragon or her rider.  

A bolus was forming in the back of his mouth but although a few flecks of yellow had begun to diminish the red-hot wrath of the little queen’s eyes, a sudden flare back to red made Urfrid postpone swallowing it back. He wondered what was going on? Surely the queen just wanted to complete the Impression and forget the sorry business? Without moving his head to look, Urfrid was still aware of his brother now in the corner of his eye since he had turned to look at the prospective queenrider. If he was lucky enough to Impress, he was determined to forget all about his brother and simply look forward. What else would there be? What possible insult could dent his self-esteem, if he could only be held in such high regard in a pair of rainbow eyes? There would be nothing of any true value that Joffic could take away from him, if he could just Impress.  

In the end, it was the senior gold on the sands who broke the impasse. A sound not unrecognisable as having the same meaning as a pointed ‘Ahem’ rattled from her, more from her nostrils than her throat. The golden hatchling did not jump but did turn her head in acknowledgement at her dam. A few seconds of silent communication passed between them and then the little queen looked down at Zandra, then back to her mother. A few more seconds and then the dragonet lifted her paw deliberately and delicately off the girl. A blast of sound from the larger queen loosened the hold that Zandra had still not broken from around the hatchling’s neck. Then the moment that had been delayed too long finally took place.

Even Urfrid in his despair could not begrude that union, even though it took place right next to him and caused him no small agony. It was a triumph for which the lack of applause seemed to make so much more intimate. The dragon eyes bloomed blue and green in contentment as the girl’s hands made complete the mental bond with the caress that Urfrid ought surely to be reserved only for a child, or perhaps a particular tender lover.

Presently, the dragon hum, lower in intensity than before, recommenced. A murmur of surprise rolled from the stands like a bass accompaniment. But the eggs began to rock again. Perhaps prompted by this new movement, the girl and Aruwynth separated slightly, save for a hand on the dragon’s headknob, and began to make their way towards the exit. As they departed from Urfrid’s side, the new queenrider suddenly clasped his wrist.

‘Thank you,’ she said, inexplicably and carried on. Urfrid stared after her, perplexed. He had no idea what she meant. He hadn’t done anything. And why would she care or even notice that he had intended to do something? He had barely moved, after all, from the same spot he had planted his feet in for what felt like the last turn and a half.

When she and Aruwynth had disappeared from view altogether, things seemed to come to life again. Urfrid saw the Weyrleaders appear on the sands, although he failed to note from where, and approach their respective beasts. Mella, Riseth’s rider, approached her queen but, for some reason, kept a dragonlength between herself and her dragon. Her distracted face indicated another intimate conversation. Urfrid had never spent enough time with his aunt to know if this became irritating in a dragonrider companion, but he felt he had suddenly recognised a potential advantage to more girls as green riders in a broadly heterosexual Weyr. That trait in a partner, if one was not themselves sympathetic, would grow tiresome.

He did not tug on that thread of thought much more. The humming had stopped again. That was his cue to return his attention to the eggs. Just about.  

Movement of the candidates, the three other disappointed potential goldriders included, began to tend towards the centre of the Ground now. All except Zandra, Urfrid noticed. Not for lack of trying. She had stood up and dusted herself down and, finding herself uninjured, now made to beat a hasty retreat with her fellows. Or possibly just an overall retreat from the Ground, who was to say? She climbed down the raised bank of sand on which only broken shards of golden shell now rested and made to follow. Riseth, however, had other ideas, moving her neck to present an obstacle. Urfrid couldn’t help but wonder if the dragon was capable of recognising the significance of the gesture in light of Zandra’s recent error. There was no eye contact between the disgraced candidate and the queen, just the blockade. Zandra opened her mouth in protest and then cringed as Riseth admonished her with a growl.

One egg out of the five Urfrid had favoured remained and he acknowledged that, aside from Zandra, he was the closest to it. Despite it being the smallest, he reckoned he might as well stick with it now. Aruwynth’s rider had been nowhere near the queen egg, from what Urfrid had been able to tell. If another dragon wanted him, he could stay put or try his chances with the egg off to his right. Either way, his chances were probably the same: dim and distant.

An egg cracked and forthwith emerged a blue. A girl called Maea swiftly Impressed him and a slight groan of male protest underwent a swift self-extinguishment. Another egg was already cracking. It contained a brown. Urfrid made a half-hearted step towards it but had to settle for some element of male pride being restored as the dark little creature nosed past four girls who had formed a semi-circle around a fairly small egg likely to contain a green to reach the boy who stood on the other side of it.

‘His name is Luth.’

Urfrid noticed that the blue dragon’s name had not been announced. The proud declaration from the new brownrider seemed to break the last layer of unease that lingered over the stands. A cheer lifted the stand to its feet, their enthusiasm not quite applicable given the middling rank of the dragon that had been Impressed, suggesting to Urfrid that this was also a delayed acknowledgement of the queen’s safe Impression.

Urfrid followed the newly joined pairs with a wistful gaze as they headed toward the exit, that separate tunnel that would take them towards the feeding grounds and the weyrling barracks. His gaze, however, was waylaid by the sight of Lord Rome in the stands. He was looking at his daughter in way that Urfrid, knowing what he did of the man as a member of his hold, would not have expected: disappointment. He was surprised not to see him engaged in a row with the Weyrleaders, demanding the queen step aside and allow his daughter to be attended by healers. But all he did was stand there, looking heavy in the heart.

Lord Rome’s sorrow was not enough to hold his interest, however. One of the last three eggs was hatching. A green. The queen swung her head to look and the dragon seemed to acknowledge her dam before heading off towards a chosen rider. Only for a moment, though. Her target was a plain girl whose white robe hovered almost immodestly above her knees by dint of her towering height, her only distinguishing feature from what Urfrid remembered. Those knees were immediately bent and buried in the burning sand as the sensation and emotion of Impression overwhelmed her, tears making rills over her sun-roughened cheeks. Her dragon placed her head on her shoulder in an embrace that the girl mirrored with heart-wrenching tenderness.

Indeed, Urfrid’s own heart seemed to contract in his chest, his lungs suddenly compressed. He looked away. It was nearly over. He didn’t even see the other Impression, although he heard another name: ‘Irith.’ Another female rider. All the greens so far had been Impressed by girls.

He looked at the last egg. It would crack, that much was certain. There was already a loose shard of shell making regular contractions, in and out, sticky membranes visibly concertinaing with each motion. The remaining candidates, about thirty people, mostly boys but also a small number of confident girls, were all slowly converging upon it, as well as the few others who had remained in the egg’s vicinity. A number of weyrhands stemmed their flow, stepping among them to fan them out and prevent a stampede or a crush. He felt as much a target as the egg. Joffic was surely taking all this in.

The egg’s abrupt rupture and birth of the final green dragonet brought everything to a halt. People froze midstep. Urfrid, who had finished exhaling at that moment, did not dare take another breath. Her eyes, a myriad of un-decidedness, were taking him in.

Urfrid didn’t take the bait of hope. He knew who stood behind him. There was some commotion there, but he didn’t turn to see. It sounded like Zandra really didn’t have respect for anyone’s rank except her own, if Riseth’s rumblings were any indication.

It was taking too much time. Defeat, failure, resignation; all three took Urfrid’s body over, slumping his shoulders, pulling his eyelids down like shutters. _For Faranth’s sake_ , he thought. _Not her. Anyone but her._

_I agree. Not her._

That thought was followed by a strange, echoey void. Someone else’s voice. Another too. Then…

_I agree. You, Urfrid. My name is Penrith._  

 

                                                                                                 


	2. Chapter 2

The boy did not announce his dragon’s name. Mella worried that his knees looked likely to buckle for a moment, but he kept them locked. It amused her a little to see the little green appear to take charge, forcing her head under his hand like a kitchen feline and guiding him toward the exit to the Hatching Ground, rather than the other way around. She knew exactly what she was doing.

 _Penrith is a queen among greens_ , Riseth commented, reflecting her rider’s musing. Mella allowed herself a slight smile, but knew that it was now to business.

_I agree, dearling. Now, for this girl who fancied herself our other queen?_

Riseth growled. She still had not unbarred Zandra’s way.

 _There is no danger now Riseth,_ Mella thought to her dragon. _You’ve made very sure of that. I did hear. And I let you have your head in this one. But I now need to make sure there is no damage._

 _There IS damage!_ Riseth’s voice was a mental roar that Mella cringed at the idea of anyone else hearing. She saw the Weyrleader, N’ru, looking at her quizzically. He wanted to know what had gone on. So did she. But she sensed that some editing of the truth might be necessary before it became Record.

_Riseth, I need to know what you’ve done._

Riseth growled again and suddenly snaked her neck around Zandra in a warning as the girl tried to duck under it. She backed up. _The girl was talented. She knows how to use her mind strength. She tried to force Aruwynth to submit to her mind, tried to name her before she named herself. But Aruwynth was not hers to Impress._

That much Mella had seen for herself, along with the rest of the audience in the stands. But she had heard something else.

_Riseth, you know what I need to hear from you. I know why you’ve done whatever you’ve done, but I need to know what that is._

_She might have Impressed one of the others. She is powerful. I stopped that. She will never Impress now. Not one of my hatchlings, not any dragon._

Mella looked at the girl, Lord Rome’s daughter. There did not appear to be any outward sign. The girl actually looked as defiant as she had ever done. But she believed Riseth. She just didn’t know how it had happened. She tried one more time.

_Riseth, can you tell me what you have done? Precisely._

_She is marked._ And the gold dragon forwarded a feeling to her rider. _She cannot hide her true self now._

 

*

 

N’ru watched his lady and her gold with interest. _Something_ was untoward there. Mella’s forehead was playing out the emotional score of the exchange. He dearly wanted to hear what was being played out but Larinth, his bronze, refused to eavesdrop on the conversation.

_You are needed. The girl’s father is still in the stands and the Unimpressed candidates need some guidance. You cannot be remiss. You are Weyrleader._

N’ru smiled slightly. His twin sister Nian would probably have said something similar.

_I could ask her._

_Don’t you dare!_ N’ru was stern in preventing it. Nian would have his hide. She always took Weyr etiquette seriously.

Hastily, N’ru signalled P’sen and F’cor to make their way down the sands, where they began to gather together the remaining candidates. This pair was Fort Weyr’s go-to people for this duty. Respectively, they had Impressed bronze Tepth and green Shulth after racking up thirteen Hatchings between them and they were experienced at counselling disappointed candidates in making their decisions on what to do next. They could be relied upon.

_You will need to say something to them yourself._

N’ru glanced at Larinth suspiciously, wondering if Nian herself was looking in on affairs. It wouldn’t be unlike her; she had been so proud when he had won the open flight for leadership of Fort Weyr but she would probably always see him in some ways as her errant twin with his foot in his mouth. It was unlikely, but he nevertheless addressed Larinth as he might his twin sister.

_I will. In normal circumstances I would have done it by now. But Lord Rome is my priority. Make sure Tepth and Shulth tell their riders where I am when they need me._

There was a pause as Larinth gave the order to the green and brown riders. Then he relayed back a question.

 _P’sen wants to know what to do about Lord Rome’s daughter. Once Riseth is finished with her, that is._ N’ru recognised the human addendum and thought how odd it sounded from a dragon. Dragons were so fluent and direct in their speech in comparison.

_Tell him Zandra is my problem._

‘Weyrleader N’ru.’ Lord Rome was making his way down toward him, down the small stairway that was unbarred now that the Hatching was over. He was alone, unflanked by any of his staff. N’ru suddenly remembered the two guards.

_Larinth…_

_They are being attended by two healers over in the aid tent._

_Thank you._

He quickly schooled his face into an expression that he hoped conveyed he was present and attentive to one of the most powerful and influential Lords on Pern. Though he was technically equal in rank to him as a Weyrleader and had no real reason to be intimidated by anyone as long as he and Larinth were bonded, this was different. As his daughter was involved, Lord Rome would probably be just like any other protective father. N’ru knew he could not let that take priority, though. Zandra had behaved inexcusably.

Looking at Rome’s face, though, N’ru realised that Rome already knew that. He looked weary, embarrassed even. N’ru frowned slightly as he went to meet him. Was this the same man who had sent armed guards to defend his daughter against a queen dragon?

‘Lord Rome,’ N’ru said as they came together. ‘I…’

‘Please, I must apologise. I…’ Lord Rome stopped too, suddenly looking about him. ‘Thyr, my other daughter, where is she?’

N’ru looked dumbly about himself for a moment, looking for a generic, well-dressed little lady.

‘Was she in the stands?’

Lord Rome looked at him with eyebrows pinched in a way that reminded N’ru of his own father when he had asked a stupid question about fishing. ‘No,’ he said. ‘She Impressed the gold. Aruwynth, I think it was.’

‘That was your daughter?’ N’ru wished he’d bitten his tongue. He should have known that. Shouldn’t he? He consulted Larinth quickly.

_I did not know._

‘She would probably be discrete about it,’ Rome said as he looked at his other daughter, still held at bay. The negative comparison he was drawing was quite obvious.

_Larinth, could you please ask Riseth if she would let Zandra go. We need to settle this._

_I have. Riseth wishes that she leave immediately and not on dragonback._

N’ru frowned. That would be awkward. Fort Hold was no great distance but he doubted even Rome, who was being more reasonable than he had expected, would overlook such an obvious snub. Riseth was clearly still in a foul mood, however. She would not forget this in a hurry. There was no point in tricking her. Mella would be in accord with her dragon.

Rome was speaking again and N’ru was glad that he didn’t have to. ‘I must apologise for her behaviour,’ he said, again. ‘Obviously I’ll have her apologise for herself. I take it from the fact she’s still stuck over there that she hasn’t yet. It’s difficult. She’s…she’s very good at managing the Hold. Since her mother…well, I’ve just left such a lot to her. She manages her sisters too. I don’t know what came over her today.’

N’ru had barely listened to him. That idea of her apologising directly to Mella and Riseth was just what he needed.

_Let’s let Riseth do her own dirty work, eh Larinth? If she wants to tell her she can do it herself._

To Rome, he said, ‘I think an apology would probably do a lot to help her current situation. Shall we?’ He gestured that Rome should take the lead.

Stepping lightly over the hot sand, both men approached the strange tableaux of Riseth, Mella and Zandra. As they came close, Riseth finally withdrew her neck and retreated to stand behind her rider. Zandra ran forward to meet her father.

‘Father! This is outrageous. My feet are burned and…’

N’ru saw that Lord Rome said something, but his voice was smothered by Riseth’s roar. Zandra covered her ears.

When Riseth had finished, Rome looked at N’ru, unsure whether it was appropriate to speak. N’ru looked at Mella, who nodded slightly, and indicated with his eyebrows that he had the floor.

‘You should count yourself lucky you’re still able to complain about your feet, my girl. Assaulting a hatchling? What in Faranth’s name were you thinking?’

‘She was mine. You heard me say her name. Thyr stole her from me!’

N’ru was quite amazed at what he was hearing. She was quite assured of what she was saying. He glanced at Rome to see what he made of it and was relieved to see that even he looked aghast. No, more than that; he looked embarrassed. He could only stare at his daughter in disbelief as she continued to rant. 

‘Why is nobody doing anything about this? You don’t just steal an Impression. I might never Impress again? What if I’m damaged by this?’

The insult, among dragonfolk, was unforgiveable and she had had the gall to repeat it. N’ru bristled and glanced quickly at Mella, whom he thought was being oddly quiet. Her expression was meaningful, but inscrutable. She knew something but was not going to talk about it here.

_N’ru, you must finish this._

He looked around at his dragon, who had returned to the floor of the Hatching Ground. N’ru didn’t like the feeling that there was some kind of conspiracy going on. But Larinth was right, whoever’s instruction that had been.

‘Zandra,’ he said, hoping his voice sounded authoritative. She looked at him with flirtatious eyes and he felt another wave of dislike towards her. He adopted a steely tone, wanting no misunderstanding.

‘Besides a quick check in the infirmary tent, nobody in my Weyr will be doing anything on your behalf, Zandra,’ he said. ‘That is an extremely offensive accusation you have made, one which only your ignorance of dragonlore excuses. I need to ask that you leave immediately.’

Zandra’s face slid into a sneer of disregard. She looked at her father, expectantly. N’ru hoped he’d read the expression on Lord Rome’s face correctly, for he was determined that he would not be overridden.

‘If your father wishes to accompany you,’ he said, his gritted teeth swinging Zandra’s attention back towards him. ‘Then that is his choice, but I believe you father’s guards are more than capable of escorting you the short distance home on foot. Lord Rome, if you would like to accompany me, I will show you to where you can congratulate your other daughter. She should be finishing giving Aruwynth her first meal by now. I understand you may have some words you wish to say first to your other daughter. We will wait until you are ready.’

He turn to Mella and extended his arm, ‘My lady?’

Mella took his hand and they headed off some distance. As expected, an almighty tantrum erupted from Zandra, which involved some shrieking and some tears. The few words her father got in edgeways were inaudible, given the Weyrleaders’ discrete distance. N’ru asked Larinth to relay some messages so that Rome’s attendants could be summoned and some runners saddled. Then he squeezed Mella’s hand in his.

‘Are you going to tell me?’ N’ru asked, trying not to move his lips or turn his head.

‘If I ever find out exactly what it is Riseth has done, absolutely yes.’

‘She’s not telling you?’ N’ru was surprised, but tried to keep from sounding so. He didn’t want to upset Mella.

‘No, she’s told me. I just don’t understand what it means. All she says is that Zandra is “marked”, whatever that means. Ask Larinth. He might be able to tell you.’

‘Ask Larinth what?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mella’s body shrugged next to his. ‘Maybe ask if he would take her home. At this rate I’d risk Riseth’s wrath just to shut that little wherry up.’

_Larinth…_

_No._

N’ru blinked. He had never had such a strong refusal from his dragon before. Actually, N’ru thought, that was the first time he’d had _any_ kind of refusal from his dragon before.

‘Sorry love,’ he said to Mella. ‘Looks like your ears will have to bear it.’

He did wonder what had happened though. Mella would have told him more if there had been more to say, that he was fairly certain. Or maybe it just wasn’t the time.

Looking at Zandra, who seemed truly to believe that she had been somehow wronged, he hoped that whatever Riseth had done would prove to be immaterial in the long run. She looked quite unstable. He made a mental note to circulate this incident around the rest of the Weyrs. She had been searched for a reason and not just because she was Lord Rome’s daughter. He could see the way she intimidated even her father. She was _pressing_ him. The man didn’t seem to have much fight in him. Come to think of it, N’ru wondered if Rome had even been the one to summon those guards. It had seemed to happen without any command from Rome and Fort’s Lord Holder had always seemed the more sensible type, even for the short time that N’ru had had cause to know him.

He made yet another note to speak with the Masterharper Chingre. This would need to be followed through.   

Some minutes later, the attendants appeared, along with Temban, Fort Weyr’s Master Groom. He held up four fingers in a brief gesture to the Weyrleaders. N’ru nodded and signalled to Temban to approach Lord Rome, which he did, tactfully finding a natural break in the row in which to speak.

‘My Lord, I have four mounts ready and saddled, but I understand you may wish to stay?’

Temban’s voice was completely clear from unease, used as the man was to speaking to men and women of rank when dealing with their runners. His tone was polite but bore not a scrap of deference either.

Rome turned to him and the look on his face was a blend of profound relief at the source of the distraction and exasperation at his daughter.

‘Ha, the Weyr still believes you deserve an escort!’ Lord Rome’s laugh was bitter. ‘If I had my way you would be going home in shackles dragged by a watchwher. I’d take the man’s offer Zandra, and I’ll see you at Fort as soon as I can bear to look at you, and not a day or a turn before.’

Before Zandra could utter another word in defiance, he abandoned her and strode over to N’ru and Mella.

‘My other daughter, Weyrwoman Thyr. I would like to see her, and congratulate her.’

N’ru was happy to accompany him, but he did not miss the look that Zandra shot at her father. Thread itself would curl away from such causticity.

That thought caused a pang in his chest. Thread. How little of it was left, no one was certain but already the Falls were lighter. He doubted today’s cohort would even get to participate in a Fall before the Interval took hold. An apt way to put it, he thought, as Lord Rome took his arm. Intervals made things between Hold and Weyr uncomfortably intimate. N’ru felt Zandra’s eyes making calculations on his back as he exited the Hatching Ground and shuddered. He doubted very much that this would be their final dealing. 

 

*

Experienced dragonriders circulated among the weyrlings to make sure that incidents were kept to a minimum; a chewed tongue or a mild choking episode were nothing special to them, although quite terrifying to the newly Impressed dragonriders, and were handled deftly. Urfrid had come into the chamber off the Hatching Ground where first feeds were taking place and had been alarmed to see a number of young dragons being attended to by healers. The faces of their human partners were tear-streaked and Urfrid tensed at the thought of being the cause of such pain to Penrith. As such, he fed each gobbet of meat from the pail he was handed to Penrith at such a slow pace she complained.

_You are my rider. You surely do not want me to starve?_

‘No!’ Urfrid said aloud and loudly, his non-sequitur causing a girl nearby to glance at him with a startled expression. Urfrid noticed that apart from soothing sounds and low murmurings, the level of conversation in the chamber was low. People were talking to their dragons in their heads. He had to do the same thing. But how? When he tried to think his words his mouth and larynx automatically made to oblige.

_Food? Please?_

Penrith didn’t seem to have any trouble, although her mouth was open in a pleading manner to receive the next gobbet. He obliged her with a slightly larger piece and she carefully chewed before opening her mouth for the next piece.  

 

He could not believe he was bonded to her. She sent a wave of gratitude and love toward him that made him want to drop to his knees in awe. Never would he lack for company or comfort with Penrith, he realised. The rest of the world could hate him or drop away and he would still have her.

But it didn’t feel quite real. It felt like it would slip away. Not knowing quite how to aim his voice at her worried him. What if he couldn’t learn? He stifled the panic with the activity of feeding and hoped she didn’t notice. The Impression was far simpler for her, he realised. Penrith had been born looking for him and, having satisfied that need, was able to concentrate on the next thing. She did not consider herself lucky, Urfrid realised. And why would she? Candidates were a ten a quarter mark. The dragons were the rare commodity.

He didn’t feel worthy of her. Her vague assurances that he was all she needed seemed to be disingenuous. Looking around the chamber at all of the other candidates, they just seemed a natural fit, the way they had Impressed so easily, making such a perfect match. Urfrid felt like a fraud amond them.

As each pail and bowl of meat was emptied, Urfrid noticed that weyrlings were being collected together in groups of between two and four pairs and led away. He wondered if he should try to speed things up. He didn’t want to be left behind. He was aware that he and Penrith were soon going to be one of only eight remaining pairs, and five of those human halves of the pairs were girls, including Thyr and Aruwynth. What if he was the only boy remaining and ended up by himsef? It looked like the groups were separated by sex as well.

The Weyrlingmaster seemed sensitive to this though. He came into the chamber but collected together no more groups, apparently waiting until the last gobbet of meat had been swallowed. Nevertheless, Urfrid was glad that that Penrith’s stomach was not the last to be satisfied. It was the brown Luth who took the longest, which made sense, as he was the biggest dragon of those remaining in the chamber.

When he finally seemed to finish, M’hew spoke up.

‘Alright weyrlings, listen up. You’ll have a few minutes to settle your partners in the barracks. You can probably tell that all they want to do is sleep. You are welcome to do so as well, but we would recommend that you make the most of the time to clean up, change your clothes and come to eat at the feast. Those of you whose families  have come to watch your Impression will be there and you will probably not get another chance to see them for quite some time. This is the longest your dragonets will sleep in one go for a while and after that, taking care of them is pretty much nonstop for the next turn. Welcome to life as a dragonrider!’

The remaining weyrlings tittered amongst themselves and then M’hew went and had a quick word with the gold rider. Urfrid did not hear what was said but he guessed that it had something to do with her accommodations. It would make sense that a queen dragonet might not be expected to slum it with the lesser colours but the gold rider seemed quite happy to accompany the group of girls who had impressed greens and a blue as all the remaining weyrlings followed M’hew toward the barracks.

Urfrid, along with two other boys who had impressed brown Luth and a blue  respectively, was directed toward a stone room, which they would share until their dragons could fly and graduate to a weyr of their own. M’hew then too the girls along the corridor to another room and left them to it.

Sethum opened the glow basket at the entrance and they all agreed that it could be worse. The barracks would comfortably house two grown bronze dragons at a pinch and between their smaller coloured dragons, they would certainly not outgrow the space in too much of a hurry. Their dragons were easily settled on the stone couches that were clearly meant for them and each dragon went off to sleep without any cajolement from their riders. Then, each weyrling sat down on the small bunk that was intended for them.

‘I’m Sethum, Luth’s rider,’ said the brown rider. The blue rider followed suit, introducing himself as Tym, Imith’s rider. Urfrid introduced himself and then they all sat in silence for a few moments.

It was Sethum who broke it. ‘So, Tym,’ he said, addressing the blue rider. ‘How are you planning on contracting that name?’

Tym laughed good-naturedly. ‘I’ll pick something new, I think. I was thinking, I’rym, maybe. Or T’sym. I wasn’t named with dragonriding in mind, I think. You both sound like you were. Are you weyrbred?’

Sethum grinned. ‘Nah, my family’s weavers, through and through. From Ruatha. But I think I’m going to change it, too. I don’t really like my name without the ‘e’. I’m going to flip it, I think. Th’mus. What do you think?’

Urfrid and Tym made sounds of approval. It suited him, somehow. It was solid, like his dragon. The conversation then seemed to turn to Urfrid. He mentioned he was from Fort Hold, though not what his family did. He found he didn’t really want to talk about it.

‘I think I’ll go with U’frid,’ he said. ‘Sorry to be boring.’

‘No, not at all,’ said Tym. ‘I like it.’

Th’mus didn’t comment, but the conversation was interrupted anyway by a woman who came in with a selection of clothes draped over her arm. U’frid recognised his own gather clothes among them and went to take them from her. He noticed there were new shoulder knots denoting him as a green rider on his. The weyrwomen worked fast.

‘If you leave your candidates’ robes in the basket in the corridor,’ she said. ‘Someone will be along to collect them. They’ll be reused. There are three jugs of water outside as well if you want to clean up. There’ll be a chance to use the baths later if you want to.’ With that, she departed.

U’frid remembered the white robe he wore. Looking down, he saw it was somewhat less white now, with dust and blood stains from the meat he had fed Penrith. The robes would probably be boiled up and bleached for the next Hatching. He laid out his gather clothes on the bunk and began to strip out of the robe. The other boys followed suit.

Tym, for all his voice was broken, still had the look of preadolescence about him, all scrawny arms and skinny chest. U’frid guessed he was only about thirteen turns in all. He washed the fastest of them, concentrating mainly on cleaning of visible dirt and blood from his hands before donning his his gather clothes, which seemed to have plenty of growing space sewn into them, for they looked fairly new. In contrast, Th’mus was already well on the way to manhood though, with an adult’s definition to the lines of his chest and shoulders. Probably, he was closer to seventeen, U’frid’s own age. He felt a little embarrassed. It seemed that the younger boy ought to have the smallest dragon and he admitted to himself that it was a little galling to think that Tym, three turns his junior, would have a dragon who outranked his in size and status.

Tym looked at his robe with a rather wistful look as he waited for the other boys to finish.

‘Pity, really,’ he said. ‘I’d rather like to keep it. I didn’t get to pick up any of the shards of Imith’s shell. It’d be nice to have a keepsake.’

U’frid felt a pang. He hadn’t picked up any of Penrith’s either. Was that something dragonriders did? Had he missed out?

Th’mus made an amused, albeit slightly exasperated sound. ‘Don’t be silly, you’ve got Imith!’ He clearly wasn’t the sentimental type. ‘Besides, are you really going to keep a dirty cloth robe in your Weyr? It’d stink and start to rot. It’d still need laundering.’

Tym grinned sheepishly and threw the robe out into the basket with the rest. A group of other weyrlings from further down the corridor were heading towards the main caverns as he went out.

‘Guess it’s time to go,’ he said. Before he did, though, he returned to the couch where blue Imith lay somnolent and planted a kiss on the dragon’s nose. For a moment he lingered, resting his hand on the dragon’s head, his eyes half-closed, then he darted away into the corridor. Th’mus tenderly caressed Luth’s head too before leaving.

U’frid hesitated before following. They had reminded him of his bond with Penrith and he couldn’t believe he had not thought to do the same. He wondered if their bonds were indeed stronger. Maybe male-to-male Impressions were stronger. He felt for his own bond with Penrith. He didn’t feel much different, although he told himself that it was unlikely that a sleeping dragon had much to pass along to him via their link. Surely he should feel slightly different?

He sat on his bunk and considered trying to wake her. Or perhaps just staying with her. He didn’t really want to go to the feast. He had a feeling Joffic would have some snide comment prepared for his brother having Impressed a green. His mother would probably be wistful that his chance at the Harper Hall would be gone and he would feel guilty for that too.

He rested a hand on the green snout and closed his eyes. He just wanted to feel something from her. Anything. This was more important than any feast, surely? He couldn’t be the only one who wanted to stay.

‘U’frid?’

He jumped as the voice at the corridor’s startled him. He was surprised to see the gold rider standing there, looking lovely in a pale pink dress. He had forgotten that cryptic proffering of thanks she had made to him after her Impression. That returned to him now, along with a number of other things. That odd echoey draconic conversation that he had overheard in part. He hadn’t had a chance to think about it. Until now.

‘Lady Thyr,’ he said, standing respectfully. He remembered her now, from Fort Hold. Unlike her sister, she had dressed simply whilst mingling with the candidates over the last sevenday. In her finery she was immediately recognisable as Lady Thyr, Lord Rome’s daughter. He felt ashamed for not having recognised her before. He tried to think if he had been at all impolite or untoward towards her over the last few days. He didn’t think so but he couldn’t be sure. He felt his face burn.

She shook her head, waving his deference aside. ‘There’s no need for that,’ she said. ‘We’re all dragonriders now. I just wanted to say, I saw what you were prepared to do today. For my sister. No one else was doing anything and though I’m also one of first to say that she didn’t deserve any help, you thought she did. I can’t think of a better quality in a dragonrider. I’d be prepared to say something to that effect to my father, to the whole Weyr if necessary. I just thought I should check with you first.’

U’frid stared at her, dumbly, not quite sure what to say. He was flattered by her words and she seemed quite ingenuous and sincere. But no, he did not want her to mark him out to the entire Weyr like that. It would be mortifying.

‘Please, don’t mention it,’ he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. ‘Um, I wasn’t actually going to come. I thought I’d stay here. Just don’t really feel like company right now.’

Thyr shifted her weight and stood up straighter in the entrance. ‘I think you should,’ she said. ‘No dragonrider should hide away. The Interval is near. We need to make ourselves known. While we can.’ Then she held out her hand.

U’frid couldn’t very well refuse that, so he took it. But as they walked towards the main caverns, he wondered what she meant. She didn’t say any more and he guessed it was either something she wasn’t supposed to say or something that he needed to figure out for himself. Rank might not mean anything once a dragonrider had Impressed, but he knew enough to take something like that seriously from Lord Rome’s daughter.

As they approached the main dining cavern, she squeezed his hand and then broke away. She entered the cavern and an announcement was made of her name and Aruwynth’s. A round of applause erupted. He hesitated a moment before following her.

The announcer was a brown rider and he immediately stopped U’frid on the way in.

‘Your name, your dragon’s, and colour,’ he hissed.

‘Um, U’frid, green...um, Penrith?’ U’frid got mixed up but the brown rider was able to interpret sufficiently well to announce him to the gathering. The applause was bewildering; he’d never had anything like that before in his life. Crafters, weyrfolk, holders and dragonriders alike all raised their cups to him, toasting his name. He dithered in the entrance like an idiot, not sure where to go and then he saw his father beckoning him. Glad to be out of the centre of people’s attention, he slid towards the long table where his family were seated. His mother hugged him and his father extended a hand to shake across the table before inviting him to take a seat with them. No one was eating yet but someone poured him a cup of wine.

Other weyrlings trickled in and were announced. There really were a lot of female riders, U’frid noticed as he sipped his wine, counting the faces as they came in and among the seated. They actually outnumbered the male weyrlings. Not only had they impressed seventeen of the eighteen greens, his own Penrith the one male exception, but also two of the blues and a brown, as well as gold Aruwynth. Some had elected to shorten their names too, breaking with tradition to female riders. It was difficult to tell some of them apart from the males as well, for some of them had immediatelycut off their braids or loose tresses in the dragonrider style. Still, U’frid was able to count only eleven new male riders, himself included.

When the last two riders, K’sid, rider of blue Leith and M’ton, rider of the bronze Djucth, were seated, there was a lull. More wine jugs and bread were brought to each table and U’frid noted that the Weyrleaders were not yet present. The feast would probably commence when they entered. The drone of conversation swelled as people began to chat to their families.

‘So, U’frid, rider of _green_ Penrith,’ Joffic said. ‘How _does_ it feel to join the esteemed ranks of the dragon _men?_ ’

The emphases in Joffic’s question that made it a jibe at his sexuality would be imperceptible to anyone but U’frid. Across the table, his expression was a perfect study in neutrality. U’frid glanced at his father but he appeared merely to be waiting on his younger son’s answer, seeing no reason to chastise his elder son for having asked the question.

Ufrid wanted desperately to answer to the effect of, ‘Like you couldn’t possibly imagine.’ But he couldn’t. Joffic would affect a hurt expression and pretend to retreat into himself, possible even excusing himself from the table in muted politeness. Then their father would reprove U’frid for boasting. He would probably end up alone and embarrassed at the table as both parents followed Joffic out of the room to comfort him.

The silence was in danger of becoming his answer, which was even worse, but he simply couldn’t think of a tactful way to respond. It surprised him that he felt this way. Maybe if Penrith were awake, he could draw on that active link. He tried tugging at the bond, but her sleep was deep. There was no help there. He was as alone as he ever was and Joffic seemed to know it. This would be the last time he and his brother would speak for a while and Joffic was going to walk away with the upper hand. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

He glanced across the cavern at Thyr, who sat at the top table with the other queen riders and her father, who U’frid could see squeezing her hand and looking so proud. She was flushed with pleasure. The other weyrlings seemed that way as well and their families seemed proud, whatever colour dragon their sons and daughters had Impressed. Why couldn’t he just be proud? He loved Penrith so much he felt his heart would burst and yet Joffic…

‘Urfrid,’ his mother said. ‘Are you alright?’

He jumped at her voice. Then he looked at Joffic and smiled slightly.

‘Sorry,’ he said, and shook himself. ‘Penrith was asking me something. I was just telling her I wouldn’t be too long. She misses me.’

It wasn’t true, but it was worth it to see the look of raw jealousy pass over Joffic’s face. Their father, oblivious to it, smiled in interest and delight.

‘You can speak to her from this far away?’

U’frid nodded as he sipped his wine. ‘Mm. Yes. Sorry I slipped out there. It’s a bit disorientating. It’s like I’m here but also with her. It’s wonderful, actually, to answer your question Joffic. I wish I could share it with you.’

It was risky, slipping that one under his father’s nose, but U’frid felt that he got away with it. His father had swelled up with pride. It didn’t even seem to occur to him to be embarrassed that his son had Impressed a green. Of course, that might change. The slightly murderous glint in Joffic’s eye suggested that he didn’t think this was over. There was never going to be too long a time where their father favoured his youngest son.

But he was remembering what M’hew had said. Joffic might be looking for another way to get in his digs, but after tonight, it wouldn’t matter. U’frid would be immersed in caring for Penrith and training. Yes, he may never see a full Fall of Thread, but his new status as a dragonrider meant he need never look upon Joffic’s face again if he didn’t want to. The next time he did, he would have Penrith at his side. Let Joffic insult her to her face. Let him try.

He thought about saying something else and was preparing a comment to the effect of how sorry he would be that he would not be around when the Fort Hold harper Kurin appeared at his and his mother’s shoulder.

‘So we lose you to Urfrid, Jamrid and now Urfrid to the Weyr.’

Jamrid rose and hugged the Fort Hold harper bodily. U’frid did the same. He hadn’t known that Kurin was there. It gave him great pleasure to know that his teacher was there that day.

‘You saw me Impress?’

‘I did,’ said Kurin, smiling. ‘Although, I confess, I was there at Lord Rome’s request. An interesting Hatching, I must say. Too bad you won’t be attending the Hall, U’frid. You could be learning a song about this day in a turn’s time!’

U’frid and his mother laughed. They made room for him at their bench and as the harper and Jamrid fell into an easy conversation, wistful in part on Jamrid’s side, U’frid did feel a private pang of regret. He enjoyed music and learning. It would have been nice too to fulfil the dream that his mother had never could. He felt like he’d thrown something away. An invitation to study at the Harper Hall was not one extended lightly. Only the Healer Hall was equivalent in terms of that certain type of prestige that an invitation to the Smith or Farming Halls just didn’t quite confer.

As his mother and the harper chatted, his father chipping now and again, U’frid saw Joffic looking at him, rotating his beltknife between his fingers as he waited for the food to be served. U’frid quickly tried to adopt a far away look that might indicate a private, mental conversation. A cruel quirk of Joffic’s lips suggested that his brother wasn’t fooled.

The arrival of the Weyrleaders at the head table was a welcome distraction and preceded the serving of food. For a while conversation abated as the feast commenced and the platters of roast meat and accompaniment dishes were heartily diminished. The harpers set up in an acoustically favourable corner of the cavern and began to play a light instrumental set that was conducive to casual conversation.

U’frid concentrated on his meal and ignored his brother as best he could. Kurin drew him into conversation once the first edge of his hunger had been dulled and he was happy to attend to it.

‘So do you think you’ll see Fall?’

‘I doubt it,’ U’frid replied. ‘It takes a turn before dragons can fly and then at least another half turn before they’re able to take their place in a wing.’

‘Hm, the Falls are shortening of late,’ the harper concurred. ‘I think this is the last summer of Thread we’ll see in our lifetimes.’

‘Sometime greens do graduate to the wing earlier, I’m told, because they’re so valuable in a Fall.’ U’frid had seen Joffic becoming alert to the opportunity for a dig and hoped to forestall him. In truth, though, he was somewhat relieved he would be unlikely to be part of a fighting wing.

‘Well, it must be something of a relief not to have a lifetime of that to endure,’ said Kurin.

U’frid hesitated before answering; it was one thing to think it but another entirely to say it. Unfortunately, Joffic had seen his opening.

‘Yes, it must be nice knowing that you’ll be living off the cream of the tithe and not ever have to risk your hide to earn it. We lesser mortals will always be happy to oblige.’

U’frid had to brace himself on the table to prevent himself from launching himself across it to punch Joffic in the jaw. It wasn’t fair. Joffic would have gladly and greedily partaken of the tithe himself as a dragonrider, had he been searched and would have considered it his right. As would anyone, for no one’s fantasy of themselves as a dragonrider involved them living a life of poverty out of gratitude for their success on the Hatching Sands. 

He was glad when the music suddenly swelled and then cut out altogether. The general hum of banter and chatter died as people noticed the sudden absence of the background sound. Cluster by cluster, people began to turn their heads to the top table, where N’ru and Mella had risen in preparation for speeches. Although U’frid would have liked the opportunity to retaliate to Joffic, he really didn’t know what he would have said.

N’ru stepped back and invited Mella to take the lead.

‘Friends of Fort Weyr, we are, as ever, humbled by your presence here today.’ Her face was warm and glowing in genuine pleasure. She looked around at each table, it seeming as though each face present received a moment of her individual attention in gratitude. ‘Hatchings remind us how very much we owe to the Holds and Crafts. We are ever in your debt. Thirty-two new dragons were added to our number today. Without your help, eighteen of those wonderful pairings could not have occurred today. You have given us your greatest gift: your sons and daughters. For that, I and all of Fort Weyr honour you.’ She raised her crystal goblet and around the great cavern, every dragonrider aside from the weyrlings got to their feet and elevated their cups. In unison, presumably at some silent instruction from Riseth, they said aloud, ‘We who ride, we thank those who give us the skies.’

It was smartly and tactfully done. Applause erupted in the cavern as the gathered guests and parents of newly Impressed riders expressed their appreciation. They raised their vessels in return and wine flowed freely as drained mugs and cups were refreshed.

Mella assumed her seat again and N’ru took the floor.

‘I can only reiterate what my lovely Weyrwoman has put so elegantly, for Faranth knows I can’t improve on it.’ Gentle laughter rolled around the room and N’ru smiled, pausing for a moment as he looked down and contemplated his goblet. Then he continued.

‘It is fitting, perhaps, that I speak of Faranth here today. The mother of all dragonkind spent her entire life fighting Thread from the skies. The dragons hatched today will as likely never have a need to chew firestone once in their lives. They are Faranth’s children’s children’s children and it is their children’s children’s children who will live to sear Thread again. It will be this clutch of dragons hatched today and their partners who will ensure that they will be prepared. We at Fort Weyr will ensure that they will be trained as vigorously as any dragonrider sitting in this cavern today, so our children’s children’s children will enjoy our beautiful world.’

N’ru paused again, looking down. It was the careworn gesture of an old man and N’ru suddenly looked much older than he was to U’frid. He looked troubled and U’frid wondered again about what Thyr had said before. U’frid glanced at Thyr where she sat and saw that hers and her father’s expressions were serious.  He couldn’t read much into what N’ru was saying. As N’ru raised his head again to speak, U’frid concentrated, listening for hidden meaning.

‘It is difficult, I realise, to think that whilst our burden eases, yours endures. Mella and I, and all we lead in Fall, are sensitive to this. So we take this opportunity today, as we are all gathered, to invite you all back to a special conclave at Fort Weyr. Masters, Holders, and yes, you parents of our young weyrlings as well. We wish to work with you together as this Pass closes. We will do everything in our power to continue to protect and serve you, and honour our debt to you. In one turn’s time, when our weyrlings have taken their first flights, among their first duties will be to bring you all back here again.’

N’ru stepped back and Mella came forward again.

‘But today, we are here to celebrate our new additions. Please enjoy the hospitality of Fort Weyr and please, make the most of your time with your children. As you can tell, we’ll be working them hard.’

She sat down and a subtle gesture from N’ru to the harpers set the music going again. It was seamlessly done.

U’frid brooded. He didn’t like what he was hearing about indebtedness to the Holds and Crafts. He thought he understood what they were doing: the politicking, that is, but he couldn’t understand why the dragonriders were being so deferential. It seemed like N’ru was almost inviting the Holds and Crafts to start taking liberties, to start reducing their tithe and so forth. He didn’t like the servile language in there. Jorric had been listening too, from the way he was passing the occasional smirk his brother’s way, it was clear that some of the subtleties of the speech hadn’t been lost on him either.

U’frid was unable to express much pleasure as the bowls of redfruit and other sweet delicacies were brought around. He noticed Joffic was not shy about filling his bowl. At least he could claim superiority of manners. But then his father was doing the same thing. He sighed and slumped back on his bench. He just wanted to go back to Penrith.

Kurin noticed.

‘Are you alright U’frid?’

U’frid didn’t dare look up. He felt tears stinging his eyes. Joffic would see.

Then his mother was at his side. ‘Would you show me Penrith, Urfrid? Your father and I will need to go after the feast is finished.’

U’frid could not be more grateful to her in that moment. He mumbled a goodbye to his father and got up, heading towards the exit. The tables of riders and guests turned to blurred streaks and shadows. He waited for his mother to catch up and then headed into the tunnels, which were now lit by glow baskets.

He had barely gone twelve paces before his mother laid her hand on his shoulder and turned him around. He fell onto her breast, silently sobbing.

For several minutes she held him, tracing a circular motion between his shoulders as the emotion heaved his body. When it began to subside, she then gently pushed him away from her.

‘Urfrid, you’re a dragonrider now. This is a great day. I couldn’t be prouder of you.’

Her concern and pride made Urfrid want to start all over again, but she wouldn’t let him.

‘Come on now, show me Penrith. Then, if you need to, you can tell me what’s wrong.’

U’frid went to wipe his nose on his sleeve and found a handkerchief thrust into his hand instead. He took it sheepishly from his mother’s hand and blew his nose. The forceful exhalation did make him feel better. _Blow all the whers out of that cave_ , Jamrid had always said when he was small.

They made their way back to the barracks, U’frid in the lead. He got the wrong door first, turning the glowbasket immediately inside and seeing glints of gold among the green. He hastily retreated, not wanting to be the weyrling who disturbed the queen. The next glowbasket in the next door along, though, bounced light of Luth’s faintly metallic brown hide. He kept the glows dim and opened the door wide to let himself and his mother in. Showing the way over to where Penrith lay sleeping, he invited Jamrid to share a seat with him on his bunk.

His mother looked over the sleeping green dragon with wonderstruck eyes. Her hand twitched but she didn’t touch her. U’frid was about to give her permission to say so but then hesitated. He didn’t know if it would wake Penrith. What if it upset her? Surely he should know. But he didn’t. His breath caught in his throat.

Jamrid shuffled closer to him where he sat and took his hand in hers.

‘Still upset? Even here?’

U’frid squeezed her hand back, not sure what to say. When he didn’t let go, Jamrid spoke again.

‘She’s yours, you know. I know Joffic’s jealous, but that doesn’t take Penrith away from you. You have every right to enjoy her.’

U’frid shook his head, puckering his lip and furrowing his brow as he tried to keep the tears back.

‘I don’t think I do,’ he said in a choked reply. ‘I don’t think it’s worked right. Impression, I mean. I can’t…I can’t talk to her. I can hear her, but…’

He felt his mother’s arm wrap around his shoulder. When he heard Jamrid’s voice, it was tender.

‘It’s just new,’ she said. ‘Do you think I felt like I deserved you when you two were born?’

What she had said was so unexpected that U’frid looked up at her. ‘What do you mean?’

There was a wistful smile on her face.

‘I never had a daughter, so I never thought I’d be saying this,’ she said. ‘But it sounds to me that you need to hear it. All I can say is, it’ll come. Whatever you need to learn to be her rider and do the best for her, it will happen. You may get it wrong at first, and you’ll feel she deserves better. But you’ll eventually get it right. If it doesn’t happen right away, do whatever works until it does.’

She lifted his hand and kissed it. Then she moved aside and placed his hand on Penrith’s steadily undulating flank.

‘She’s yours,’ Jamrid whispered. ‘That will never change. Just as you’re still mine.’ U’frid felt her hand tighten slightly over his as she said that. She then leaned over to kiss him on the forehead.

‘I’ll always be here if you need me,’ she said. ‘Just send a message and I’ll come. But I’m not expecting many. And for what it’s worth, I’ll be glad if my boy never has to meet Fall. What mother wouldn’t be?’

She then rested her other hand on the dragon’s hide, her fingers tenderly smoothing over the texture. A smile of childish delight pulled her worn cheeks upwards, lighting up her eyes.

‘Maybe it’s wrong to say it, but I doubt there’s a better time to be a dragonrider. All of the joys…’

‘None of the responsibility?’ U’frid’s voice was bitter. Jamrid turned to him, her face sympathetic, but U’frid could not take any more understanding. ‘You heard Joffic,’ he said, miserably.

‘I’m not going to discuss your brother with you,’ his mother said. ‘No more than I would you with him. But you heard the Weyrleader. You’ll have responsibility. Don’t anyone ever tell you caring for a dragon, anymore than caring for a child, isn’t valuable and essential work.’

U’frid didn’t respond. He suddenly felt incredibly tired. His mother’s words sat heavily in his consciousness like an undigested meal. There was some sense to them but he didn’t have the capacity to break them down.

He swallowed his yawn but Jamrid noticed, and she vacated the bunk for him.

‘I think it’s time for me to go,’ she said. U’frid nodded his head absently and lifted his legs onto the bed but she snapped her fingers at him.

‘Clothes off first, and folded,’ she said, sharply. He looked down stupidly at his Gather clothes. He had forgotten. He stood up and shucked off his shirt, tunic and pants, handing each garment blearily to his mother, who folded each one carefully. He dug around in his pile for a night shirt and shipped into it and crawled into bed.

He felt a covering – wool or cotton, not fur – pulled up over him and he closed his eyes. He didn’t think to say goodbye or goodnight. He sank abruptly into a thick, viscous sleep. He didn’t know yet it was the special sleep of dragonriders, whose sleep was like that of dragons: instant and luxuriant.

Jamrid folded the clothes in the alcove assigned to her son and stood to go. She would send him some more things as soon as possible, although it might be a while. As she was there, she tidied away the other clothes he had neatly as well. She didn’t imagine they would stay organised for long but it would give him a good start for the morning. Then there was nothing more to do.

She stood in the centre of the room for a moment, surveying his accommodations. It wasn’t bad and he would graduate to a weyr ten times the size within a turn. In the meantime it was safe from Thread, it was warm and it was comfortable. Most importantly, he had Penrith. He would never be alone.

‘Take care of him,’ she whispered to the green. ‘He’ll do his best. It may not be the best, but it’ll be his.’

The green, in just as thick a sleep as her rider, gave no indication she had heard. Jamrid waited a moment more and then closed the glow basket. The emerald hide fell into shadow and then receded entirely from view as Jamrid stepped out of the room and left her son.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

‘It reminds me of looking after my first little girl,’ one of the green riders surprised everyone by announcing as they were settled around the long table for breakfast the following morning. U’frid found himself staring as he processed what she had said. He didn’t mean to be rude but he was trying – as he guessed were many of the other girls – to square what she had said with what she looked like. Trying to make her older, he admitted to himself and it was actually quite difficult. She didn’t look much more senior than Joffic.

He tried to remember her from the previous sevenday and found himself drawing a blank on her name, rank and just about anything else. He had seen her, he supposed, but she had not made herself noticed.

One of the other girls asked the question.

‘What, you have more than one?’

The girl, no, woman, nodded, unabashed. ‘Yes’, she said. ‘Two girls, one boy. Their father’s S’ram, rider of bronze Afrith, in case you’re wondering. We’re weyrmates.’

She really didn’t look much older than any of them and she certainly didn’t look like she’d had three children. One of the other green riders said so, in awe. She grinned.

‘Time spent a-dragonback quickly gets you toned again,’ she said. ‘I feel terrible, though. I’ve not seen any of them since yesterday now. I just haven’t had time.’ A shadow passed over her face which was almost immediately banished by an involuntary rapturous expression. She diluted it with some guilt. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, suddenly poking at the corners of her eyes. ‘You’re supposed to love your children the most in the world.’

A clamour of female voices erupted in expressions of support, from the youngest at perhaps twelve to the next eldest at perhaps nineteen, maybe younger. They clustered around her, wrapping her in a sympathetic huddle. U’frid stayed in his seat, poking at his porridge with his spoon, suddenly lacking an appetite.

He was startled by a raucous burst of laughter from the other table, which seated mainly the boys but also a scattering of the girls who had Impressed male dragons. U’frid had not meant to, but he had found himself in the group of greens with the morning’s messy task of feeding the hatchlings. The greens tended to rise earlier than the other colours, apparently, so he had left Th’mus and T’rym – as the latter had styled himself – still deeply ensconced in sleep along with their dragons. U’frid sighed. He’d spoken to them very briefly that morning and they already seemed to have their own language.

Standing up, he paused a second to see if anyone guessed of his imminent departure. Satisfied, if that was the right word, that he would not be missed, he picked up his porridge bowl and carried it to the slurry pail. A drudge took the earthenware dish from him and he wandered out of the dining cavern. It was quiet, with most dragons and riders having risen early and now were enjoying a Thread-free day, riding _between_ to see their families or simply enjoying the freedom and flying straight where they chose.

Anticipating that the break for breakfast would be curtailed shortly by the next task of the day, U’frid headed back towards the lake, where they had left their sleeping dragons. The Weyrlingmaster would probably be gathering everyone together shortly anyway, he guessed. Pails of food would be brought to them again and then they would learn how to wash and oil the dragons, but that was the last help any of them could expect, they had been warned earlier.

U’frid found himself dragging his feet. There was surprisingly little to enjoy about his first day as a dragonrider. He felt like things ought to be more different.

He had not expected to feel so alone. All the way through the meal this morning, he had barely spoken to Penrith, nor she to him. Certainly he had managed to say nothing to her telepathically. Her words to him had been sleepy and vague. He might as well have been feeding a watchwher for all the connection he felt with her. She just seemed like a mere beast, not a dragon.

He knew in his bones that something was wrong. That echoey conversation yesterday, write before he’d Impressed…

She had wanted someone else. He knew it. She had wanted Zandra. She had been deterred. _I agree_ , she had said. She had been speaking with her dam, who else could it have been? Penrith had only Impressed him because her mother told her not to Impress Zandra. And it had not gone right.

His eyes filled with tears and he stopped to lean against the wall. He gasped at the horror of it. His Impression was a sham.

He had known last night. How long before everybody else did? There were few secrets in a Weyr. The dragons talked to one another, although he had not heard it. It was only a matter of time before it came out to someone.

And even if Penrith were discrete, what about when they started proper training? When he was supposed to give her commands and she couldn’t hear him, what then? He would never fly Thread, but they still had to take part in the Games and regular wing training. They used real firestone in training so it wasn’t even as if he would be able to fake it. It would be too dangerous to try to keep this to himself forever.

He needed to tell someone. But what would they do?

Footsteps sounded and he straightened suddenly. He turned to face the wall, hiding his face. But what then?

He turned again and hurriedly carried on walking. No point letting just anyone find him crying in a passageway. If he was going to tell this to someone, it was going to be on his terms.

Cleaving to the wall of the Bowl, he made his way back to the lake, trying to think. Maybe they would just grant an exemption to him from training? That would make sense, as it would not be fair to endanger others. But then where did that leave him? And Penrith? Just a drain on Pern’s precious resources and that of the Weyr as well. A dragon still needed caring for. What if she turned aggressive without tempering from a rider? Would they be cruel to be kind? And where would that leave him? Would he be any better than any other dragonless man?

For some reason, his mind would not contemplate that question. The thought just triggered a blank space in his head. He groaned. That was probably proof enough, if ever he needed it.

The lumps of green, blue, brown and bronze that he had seen from the distance resolved into the shapes of baby dragons. He sighed. It took him quite a few seconds to identify Penrith among them. She did not seem particularly unique to him. If this number were trebled, he would struggle. He located her between two other greens, both grassier in hide than she. She was still asleep. She seemed smaller than the other two as well.

On the verge of approaching her, he froze as he heard unusually loud voices by his ear. He had thought himself alone, at least as far as human company went. Although he had no reason to hide, he was unwilling to be seen as intruding on a private conversation. He looked amongst the beasts but did not see anyone.

He thought himself going mad for a moment before realising that the voices were coming from inside the Infirmary, carried through a ventilation duct. He recognised one of them as M’hew’s. The other was female.

Without intending to eavesdrop, he leaned closer to the duct in an effort to identify the voice. Then he found himself listening.

_‘…her away.’_

_‘I agree, Weyrwoman, but as far as I see it, Riseth has dealt with it herself. I don’t see what further damage could be done. I doubt very much she’ll even want to come back.’_

_‘She scares me. I don’t trust her as far as I could kick her.’_

_‘I think your worry is unnecessary. Her father seems to have the right idea of it. He seems as determined as any of us to keep her from coming back, even if she was to think about it. Which I don’t think she will. After that, whatever it was, I think she’ll develop a healthy aversion to the Weyr. ’_

_‘That’s some sound reasoning, M’hew but I don’t share it. Riseth won’t say what it is that she did. She’ll probably forget completely in time. I don’t like not knowing. What we don’t know, we can’t use to predict.’_

There was a pause. U’frid glanced up at the dragons and noticed that there was no splash of gold amongst them. They could only by talking about Zandra and he wondered if the latter had been involved in something that could account for the absence of Fort Weyr’s newest queen rider. He had not seen her at breakfast, nor earlier at feeding.

He heard the sound of the voices again and U’frid strained to hear them this time. Mella and M’hew must have moved. He leaned in and then realised what he was doing. It was not his business. Not really. Well…maybe it was a little. His dragon had been involved…

That triggered it. Another wave of guilt and self-loathing easily overcame the temporary defence that the distraction had provided him. He looked at the floor, miserable.

‘U’frid?’

He jumped at the voice. His body flushed with adrenaline as he anticipated he had been caught listening in. But no one was emerging form the Infirmary entrance. It was behind him.  

Turning around, he saw Thyr and Aruwynth making their way towards him. They seemed to be coming from the Barracks. He noticed the golden dragon already glistened, looking as though she had been freshly oiled. The expression on both dragon and rider’s face was joyous.

He waved half-heartedly in reply and shuffled quickly away from the shaft. He didn’t want her to overhear the conversation about her sister. She caught up with him and he stopped, out of politeness and a sense of deference.

‘Beautiful day for a first, don’t you think?’ U’frid stared stupidly at Thyr for a moment. She was commenting on the weather. Why?

Then it clicked. She wasn’t privy to the inside of his head. The silence bore on, though, as he struggled to think of something to say. Her smile faded to a look of concern. She glanced around him, probably noting that he was alone.

‘You’re hiding again,’ she said, reaching for his shoulder. U’frid almost winced at the contact. It must have shown. She withdrew her hand.

‘Do you want me to tell the Weyrwoman? Or M’hew?’

‘Tell them what?’ U’frid asked, defensive. Thyr hid her reaction well, but Aruwynth did not. He saw the flicker of red register in every facet. He sighed, untensing his muscles.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘Please, tell Aruwynth. I didn’t mean to snap.’

‘She knows,’ Thyr said, not looking at the dragonet, although she caressed the head that pushed itself into her hand.

Jealousy struck U’frid’s heart with irrational vehemence. He had a dragon of his own, for Faranth’s sake. Again, Thyr’s logged the reaction, in spite of how little he showed of it, and she glanced down at Aruwynth before turning worried eyes to him.

‘U’frid, you need to talk to someone. This isn’t the way-’

Abruptly, she stopped and ran to catch up with him as he had turned and stalked away.

‘U’frid, no, this has to stop now. This is only going to get worse if you let it.’

U’frid would not look at her. He couldn’t bear to watch it, that exchange of emotion, words and more between them. He was glaring at where the green dragon lay. Penrith wasn’t even waking up. She didn’t care about him in the least.  

He imagined himself at home again, in Fort Weyr, sitting eating at the table his mother and father worked hard to cover with food, which they would have to continue long after they ought once their failed son returned. Joffic would return once in a while, strong and muscled from life as an apprentice, journeyman, then maybe even Master, perhaps with children and a wife in tow. His mother and father both talking around him, over him, oblivious to the sneers and jibes that his brother carefully embedded in every other utterance. Exclaiming in delight at the spoils he would bring home, only enough to feed two mouths, not three. Him screwing up his eyes and desperately willing it all to have been a bad dream. Screaming.

He felt his chest would burst, it was so tight, full of pressure. His eyes narrowed at the green, sleeping there in the sun next to all the others, not a care in her heart. She should have just Impressed that little tunnel snake and left him alone. He could have been a Masterharper in time. What was left for him now?

Only the great taboo stopped him from charging at her. But like the close air of the Infirmary, his anger needed somewhere to vent.

‘She was _your sharding sister_ ,’ he screamed at Thyr, rounding on her suddenly, and he shoved her violently away from him. She stumbled backwards and lost her balance, falling heavily to the ground. Aruwynth roared and stepped protectively in front of her rider, blocking U’frid from striking her again, but U’frid found he had no patience for her, either. He loomed over the dragonet and roared back at her.

‘You think I’m afraid of you, you toothless, witless wherry?’ U’frid’s hands curled into fists and the gold dragon actually stepped back. Then her eyes burned with crimson rage. She reared onto her hind feet, suddenly towering above her would-be challenger. U’frid did not care, taking a stride back and to the side. Aruwynth tried to shield Thyr from him but would not move far. U’frid was able to glimpse her.

‘Enjoy being the darling by default, but that’s the only reason anyone is ever going to care! And you take your thanks yesterday and shove them in your dragon’s tailfork. I wish the glorified spit-dog had killed her.’

In between that moment and the next – in which Aruwynth decided to try to erase the debt in which the green rider held her and make up for yesterday’s lack of fatalities – U’frid thought he heard a feminine cry for the gold to show restraint. Then he was on his back and he felt the crack as several of his ribs broke at once. The pressure on them was extreme. A young dragonet weighed more than one would guess. He felt the hot breath in his face as the shadow of her mouth – still unfanged – blotted out the sun.

_U’frid!_

Then it was gone. He lay there, not caring what happened. It sounded like two dragonets might be fighting one another.

He coughed, and suddenly felt light-headed. He heard his name called a number of times before he stopped making memories. The sun went dark.

 

 

 

 

  

 

 


End file.
